


mac and dennis are sleepy bitches

by golden_geese



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Napfic, cannon-typical levels of dennis being mean to his sister and frank being mean to his kids, it's going to be alternating between dennis and mac pov, it's naptime babiey!!!!!, thanks to a great idea from glennjaminhow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-09-12 13:24:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16873689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_geese/pseuds/golden_geese
Summary: oh, this? this fic? yeah, it's just about napping. that's literally it. just a cute napfic. a series of one-shots that are all just literally about being sleepy and taking naps. feel free to read them out of order or only read some of them or whatever u want!





	1. dennis, 2006

2006 

1:27 p.m.  
a Wednesday

“Dennis.”

He perks up maybe fifteen percent.

“ _Dennis_ ,” Dee repeats, snapping her bony fingers horrendously in front of his face.

He cringes. “God dammit, Dee, I’m listening. What? What do you want?”

“We have to come up with a plan to get rid of Dad but still have him pay for everything,” she says, sitting down at the bar, which Dennis has draped himself against.

“Sure.”

“I’m thinking maybe we get this thing in writing,” she says. “Lock him into a ten year contract or something so he can’t get out of it. Then once the financial stuff is secure, we stink him out. I’m talking worst behavior from everyone. Mac can single handedly get rid of him probably, right? He’s annoying as shit.”

Dennis yawns. Mac. “Sounds great, sis. Tell me, what were you thinking this morning when you put that eyeshadow on?”

Her eyes, shadowed in lime green shimmer, narrow. “Don’t try me, boner. I could destroy you with two sentences.”

He scoffs, rubbing his eyes. “I’d like to see you try, you bitch. Where’s Mac?”

“How the shit should I know?”

“Well, where’s Charlie?”

“He’s in the basement,” Dee says. “Something about his legs are still sore from when you ran him over and the basement has better air for minerals or something.”

Dennis nods, leaving his post without another word. He heads down the rickety basement stairs, yawning again.

“Charlie?”

“Sup, man,” Charlie says from where he’s laying on the floor.

“Where’s Mac?”

“In the office with Frank, I think.” Charlie lifts a brown paper bag to his face and inhales. 

“You just laying in the dark doing inhalants, bro?” Dennis asks.

“Well, _yeah_.”

Dennis nods slowly. “Cool. Cool.” He turns to head back upstairs, ignoring whatever Charlie is starting to say back. He’s gotten very good at tuning charlie out over the decade or so they’ve known each other. It’s not hard-- Charlie’s voice is so shrill, it almost doesn’t even sound like he’s saying words in the first place.

“Dennis,” Dee says once he’s up the stairs. “Are you going to help me figure out a contract to make Dad sign or what?”

“Sure, sure, later,” he says, waving her off, not even bothering to stop walking. Yawns again. Makes his way through the bar. Pushes into the office.

“Hey, Dad.”

“What d’ya want, Dennis, I’m busy,” Frank says, peering at the computer.

“Can’t a guy come say hi to his dad without an ulterior motive?” Dennis asks, crossing his arms.

“Not you.” He glances up, regarding Dennis through his wire-frame glasses. “You look like shit.”

“I didn’t sleep last night,” Dennis shoots back defensively. “Where’s Mac? Charlie said he was in here with you.”

“Mac’s on alley duty.”

“He’s on _what_?”

“Alley duty,” Frank repeats. “Now get outta here, son, let the grownups take care of the business side of things.”

“Grownups? Business side of things? This bar practically runs itself! And don’t talk like you got five guys in suits in some board meeting,” Dennis huffs, but he leaves anyway. He got what he came for.

“You know what alley duty is?” Dennis asks his sister once he makes it back over to that side of the bar.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

He groans. “Ugh, I’m so tired of explaining shit to people! All day all you people do is ask me question after pointless question and I just have to explain everything because I’m the only one who has more than two brain cells. Forget it. I’ll figure it out on my own. Just-- just take care of the customers, would you, you dumb bitch? Can you handle that?”

“Uhh, I dunno, Dennis, can you handle me slapping the shit out of you for being such a jerk?”

Dennis doesn’t answer. Just grabs his jacket (it’s _cold_ ) and heads out into the alley.

And-- nothing.

“Mac?”

No answer. It’s empty.

He sighs, annoyed, and stuffs his hands in his pockets. Heads toward his car. Whatever. No point sticking around the bar. He’s half-asleep anyway and the others can handle it.

Once he’s in his car, heat blasting, he flips open his phone and calls Mac. It rings a few times. Goes to voicemail.

“Hey, it’s me, where the hell are you? I’m going home. I can pick you up from wherever you are if you want. Call me.” He hesitates, almost as if he’s expecting Mac to pick up the phone, even though cell phones don’t work like landline answering machines do. Silence on the other end. “Okay. Bye.”

He closes his phone and puts it in the cupholder. Jams his key into the ignition on the third try; starts his car.

He pulls out of his parking spot lazily, barely bothering to look around him. No one hits him though, so it’s fine. Not too many people are driving around, so he figures the laziness is fine.

As he’s driving home, it starts raining. He scoffs as he turns his windshield wipers on. Rain. Great. He might as well just give up on this entire goddamn day. For what feels like the millionth time since he dragged himself out of bed, he yawns.

Where the fuck is Mac, though?

An idea popping into his head, Dennis changes direction. Heads to Mrs. Mac’s house. He’ll look in the window, he reasons. Not like he’s about to, like, _talk to her_. Not if he can help it.

He finds his way to her house, parking across the street and jaywalking over. Peeks in through the window. She’s sitting in front of the TV, a cigarette in her mouth, a beer in her hand. No sign of Mac with his pacing and rambling and hand movements and fake karate.

Annoyed that he took an unnecessary detour, Dennis heads back to the Range Rover and drives home, pulling maybe the worst parking job he’s ever done in his life. He doesn’t care, though. He’s getting so damn sleepy his head is starting to hurt. Plus, he’s damp from the rain now. And cold.

He drags his feet to his door and unlocks it, already looking forward to the warmth of their heater. But when he lets himself in, it’s almost colder than it was in the hall.

“What the fuck,” he whines out loud.

“I know dude,” Mac says, appearing in the doorway of his bedroom. 

“There you are. I’ve been looking all over the damn place. What are you doing here? Frank said you were on alley duty.”

“Oh, yeah, I was, but, like, I got bored of it so I came home. You've been looking for me?”

“Yeah, dumbass. I called you and you didn’t pick up.”

“Oh, I left my phone at the bar,” Mac explains. “Charlie said it was gonna give me cancer if I carried it around all the time.”

“And you believed him?” Dennis asks, exasperated. “Fuck, it’s freezing in here.”

“I didn’t have any way to prove him wrong,” Mac insists.

Dennis crosses his arms tight. “Whatever. I’m so fucking sleepy, dude. I didn’t sleep at all last night. I just want to take a nap.”

“Okay.”

Dennis looks at Mac for a moment. Narrows his eyes. Sweeps them up and down Mac’s body. Tries, hard, to look like a cool person who doesn't care. “Come with me.”

Mac makes a face. “You want me to come take a nap with you? Isn’t that kinda gay, dude?”

Dennis rolls his eyes. “We shared a bed all the time when we were in high school. It’s a body heat thing. My body doesn’t generate enough heat. You’re always warm. Like a dog.”

“Oh,” Mac says, blinking. “Thanks. I think. Okay. Sure.”

Dennis grabs Mac’s arm and tugs on it, leading Mac to his big comfy memory foam bed and all its blankets. He kicks his shoes off. Tosses his jacket onto the designated clothing disposal chair. Yawns for the billionth time (Mac catches it) and gets into bed.

Once Mac is laying down next to him, he positions himself very carefully, so their bodies are almost touching. But not quite. ‘Cause that actually _would_ be gay.

He nestles down into the bed, face almost covered by the blanket, forehead almost touching Mac’s bicep. He can feel the warmth from it. He exhales; manages to fall asleep easily for the first time in several days.


	2. mac, 2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is Slightly au; dennis didn't go to north dakota and just figured out some kind of visitation system so he can see brian sometimes i guess? doesn't matter too much tbh just sit back n enjoy the plotless naptime garbage

2017  
5:30 p.m.  
A Monday

It’s not that Dennis doesn’t like being a dad. He likes it. He likes Brian. Likes playing LEGOs and taking the kid to Build-a-Bear and talking him into eating apple slices when all he wants are Skittles. Likes cutting the peels off the apples so his son won’t have to eat toxins. Likes hearing Brian’s little tiny toddler voice.

But it’s a lot. Especially since he knows he’s only going to see the kid for two total weeks out of the year, and there’s all this _pressure_ to get the most out of the visits. And especially since it’s the first solo visit since Mandy brought him to Philly for the first time a couple months ago-- he feels like he has a lot to prove. To Mandy, to himself, to Brian (and, for some reason, to Frank and Dee).

He needed a break. He convinced Mac he needed to go to the grocery store alone. He went out and drove around for three-fourths of an hour before hurrying through the store for cereal and dish soap and paper towels and orange juice and bread.

Two grocery bags in his left hand, he unlocks the door and heads inside the apartment, armed with an excuse about how traffic was bad and the lines at the store were _so_ long-- but when he goes in, the apartment is almost silent. The only sounds are the TV on low, and the soft rain thumping against the windows. The lights are off, too, except for one lamp in the corner of the living room.

Dennis sets the groceries down on the kitchen counter, frowning a little. It’s not even close to Brian’s bedtime. They haven’t even had dinner yet.

He moves as quietly as he can. Heads toward Mac’s room to see if he’s in there-- but stops when he notices that Mac and Brian are both on the couch, both asleep, Mac leaning back with his feet on the ottoman, Brian curled up against his chest. Dennis frowns. Bad, his mind suggests-- Very Bad, Too Soft, No. His hands fist. 

(Should have been Mac who accidentally became a dad, he can’t help but think. Mac’s a better dad anyway, and he’s not even Brian’s actual dad.)

(Dennis always kind of thought the only reason Mandy was letting Brian visit without her was because she saw that it wouldn’t just be Dennis in charge. That there was an actual useful person around too.)

He exhales hard. Forces himself through the room. Slowly, quietly, sits next to Mac. Reaches over to straighten his son’s crumpled shirt. Smooths his hair off his face.

Mac’s breathing changes. He blinks awake. Glances first at the toddler he’s holding, then at Dennis.

“Hey,” he says, whispering so he won’t wake Brian up.

“Hey,” Dennis whispers back.

“How was the store?”

He half-shrugs. “You two fall asleep?”

“Yeah. He was really tired. I think we should’ve made him nap in the afternoon or something. Just kinda made me tired too. Having the lights all low and stuff. It’s like when I was in high school and Poppins would curl up on my legs to take a nap and it always made me sleepy.” He yawns.

Dennis nods slowly. “Right.”

“You want him, man? I should probably start making dinner.”

“Oh,” Dennis says, a bit surprised. “Okay.”

Carefully, slowly, Mac maneuvers the sleeping kid onto Dennis’ lap. Warm and heavy with sleep, Brian doesn’t notice-- glancing over his shoulder to make sure Mac isn’t still there, Dennis quickly adjusts the toddler into a more comfortable position. He doesn’t know if babies can wake up with knots in their backs like adults can, but better safe than sorry. 

Hesitantly, he rests his hand on Brian’s back. Tunes in to the soft, pillowing sound of the kid’s breathing.

“Mac,” he whispers.

“Yeah, dude?”

“I don’t think he’s going to want to wake up for dinner. I think he’s out cold.”

“Yeah?” Mac yawns.

(Dennis catches it. Holds his mouth shut so Mac won’t hear the yawn.)

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Let’s just put him to bed, then.”

“Nah,” Dennis hears himself say. “He’s comfortable. I don’t want to disrupt his sleep. He can sleep on me for a while.”

“Honestly, Den, having a little kid around is kind of dicking with my sleep schedule anyway,” Mac says, still speaking quietly for Brian’s sake. “I’m exhausted, dude. I’m not used to waking up early and shit.”

“Me neither,” Dennis agrees.

“I kind of want to just take a nap too, dude. I’m pretty sure I’d just fell asleep when you got home,” Mac goes on, coming back to sit down on the couch. “You can put the TV on low or whatever. I’m just gonna go back to sleep.”

He can feel the couch depress as Mac sits down. Can feel warmth emanating from Mac’s body. Dennis suppresses another yawn. Puts the TV on low volume like Mac suggested.

In a few minutes, he’s the only one awake. In another few minutes, he manages to drift off too.


	3. mac & dennis, 2007

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> takes place right after s.3e.11 "dennis looks like a registered sex offender". mac is sad. dennis is self-conscious. everyone needs a damn nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: allusions to body image issues  
> we are taking full advantage of early 2000s fashion tbh... im describing my 2007 dream outfit

2007  
4:15 p.m.  
A Sunday

As he folds his laundry, Mac goes through the list. Dennis and Dee’s mom is dead. Their real dad is crazy or something (Mac never got a straight answer on that one) and the next best thing is Frank. Charlie’s mom is overbearing. He grew up without a dad, and then recently found out that his dad is probably Frank. Collectively, the gang could count all their living parents or parent proxies on one hand: Mac’s mom, Mac’s dad, Charlie’s mom, Bruce Mathis, and Frank. Mac is the only one with two confirmed living parents. He goes through the list again and again and again, much like he spent all last night doing-- except this time, he’s dealing with a pile of laundry on his unmade bed, not tossing and turning and flipping his pillow over. 

He’s been letting his laundry pile up. He only even started doing it today because he realized he was literally on his last pair of socks. He let it pile up for so long it turned out to be like four loads-- and then he washed the towels too, because if you’re already doing laundry, you might as well wash the towels too. It’s an unkempt mountain on his bed; tee shirts and pants and underwear and socks and towels. He’s just been adding to the pile all day, never stopping to fold between loads. 

Anyway. Dennis and Dee’s mom is dead, and their fake dad is Frank, and their real dad is apparently some weirdo. Charlie’s mom is bonkers and his dad is probably Frank too. Mac has two living breathing parents.

So, he wonders bitterly as he shakes out a pair of jeans, why does he feel like he has the shittiest deal of them all? Dennis and Dee might as well be orphans, and Charlie’s mom is even crazier than Charlie. It doesn’t make sense, he tells himself. It doesn’t make sense that he’s so damn ungrateful and mushy about all of this. 

Anyway, Mac is the one responsible for his dad getting locked up again. He’s probably the worst son in the whole world, he figures as he folds a pair of black pants. 

(remembers, when his dad got out of prison last week, how he went in for a hug and his dad said “don’t touch me”)

(yeah, mac figures; he’s definitely the worst son in the whole world)

Because what kind of son gets their dad arrested? All he’d wanted was to take Mac and Charlie to the baseball hall of fame in New York. He’d even bought them all tickets. And now this. Brows furrowed, jaw set, Mac folds a tee shirt. Adds it to the uneven stack.

His dad doesn’t love him, though. Couldn’t possibly, what with the whole “I’m going to kill you” fiasco. 

(i have mom though, he reasons)

(and charlie and dennis)

(and poppins)

Now that Mac thinks about it… Charlie might not actually love him. He did sabotage the whole dinner party thing. And Dennis is always so wrapped up in his own shit, who’s to say if he loves anyone. Poppins is the only one Mac is sure loves him, and Poppins is a street mutt who’s missing half the time.

Sighing, he folds the next shirt. He loves Charlie and Dennis and his parents and even probably Dee. He loves all of them, even though they probably don’t love him back. Has so much goddamn love for them it’s bursting out of his chest-- and he shows it, too. By bringing Charlie a Red Bull when they were in high school, or complimenting Dennis when he’s being grumpy, or even just by paying attention and understanding. He’s told them he loves them, too, every so often. Wonders if he’s ever heard it back once. Probably not. 

(whatever.)

Sulking a little, he reaches for the pile and picks up the next shirt. Starts to fold it; frowns, realizing it isn’t his. Turns it around in his hands. It’s a soft button-down, striped with white and light blue. Nicer quality than any of Mac’s clothes. A size bigger to accommodate broad shoulders. Dennis.

He straightens the sleeve out. You don’t fold button-down shirts, right? You have to hang them up so they don’t get wrinkled. He straightens his shoulders. Makes the executive decision. Heads to Dennis’ room.

“Hey, Dennis?” Mac asks, knocking.

“What,” a muffled voice comes.

He nudges the door open. Catches sight of Dennis, shirtless-- Dennis, standing in front of his dresser mirror, a weird frown at his lips.

“Your shirt got into my laundry somehow,” Mac explains, tossing it to him. 

Dennis doesn’t catch it. Watches it billow its way to the floor. Mac watches too, before turning his eyes back to Dennis. Droopy eyes. Pale skin. Messy hair.

“You okay, dude?” Mac asks cautiously.

“Fine,” Dennis responds, barely audible. 

“You… sure?”

“Fine,” Dennis insists.

Mac watches him a moment longer. Nods once. “I’ll… leave you to it, then, I guess.”

He takes a step back; re-installs himself in the doorway-- but doesn’t leave the room.

Footsteps in the hall. Yelling outside. Always yelling outside. 

He stands there for probably an hour. “Have you eaten?”

“Dinner? Have I eaten dinner? No, I’m not hungry,” Dennis says emptily.

“No,” Mac says-- “I mean, like, have you eaten… today?”

Dennis swallows. Meets Mac’s eyes for a tenth of an instant. “Why do you care?”

“I mean-- you gotta eat, dude. Or you’ll, like, die,” Mac says dumbly.

“Oh, is that how science works? Is it? Are you a doctor? Is your name doctor… science?” Dennis sneers, his voice cracking.

Mac blinks. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“This morning.”

“For real?”

_“Yes.”_

“Okay,” Mac says, deciding it’s probably just easier to believe Dennis and keep an eye on the situation. “‘Cause I know you were being weird about… y’know, the whole thing where you looked like that pedo…”

“I don’t look like that pedo,” Dennis insists. “He’s fat. I’m not. I’m _chiseled_.” 

“Yeah,” Mac says quickly. “You’re super chiseled, man. You’re so chiseled it’s ridiculous. You’re hot.”

Heat immediately smoke-bombs in his chest. The last two words fell out of his mouth without his brain’s consent.

Dennis is staring at him now, eyes somewhat narrowed. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” he says. Clears his throat. “You know. In, like, a totally platonic bro kinda way. Like, objectively, do I think you’re attractive? Yes. Objectively, yeah, I do.” He gestures vaguely.

“Thanks,” Dennis says, nodding a tiny amount. “You know, your opinion means a lot to me."

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah.”

(maybe dennis does love mac)

“Cool.”

(maybe dennis just shows it weird. he totally loves mac. yeah. mac was stupid to ever think otherwise)

Dennis yawns.

Mac catches it.

“Sorry,” Mac says, even though Dennis yawned first and apologizing for yawns isn’t really a thing people do. “I didn’t sleep, like, at all last night.”

“Me neither,” Dennis admits. 

“Think I’m gonna take a nap, actually,” Mac adds. Yawns again, now that he’s thinking about how tired he is.

“That’s a good idea. Maybe I will too.”

“Oh, shit-- my bed is covered in laundry,” he sighs. “Nevermind, I guess.”

Dennis’ jaw tilts a little. He half-shrugs. “You can use my bed, if you want.”

“Really?”

“I don’t see why not.”

His voice is still all weird and quiet. But at least he’s talking.

“Okay, dude,” Mac says, nodding. “Thanks.”

It’s an awkwardly choreographed shuffle, to casually get in the same bed as your best friend, but they do it. It’s a big bed, at least-- they can both settle in comfortably without even feeling that the other is there. A soft bed too, Mac thinks as he nestles into it-- soft and warm and inviting. Probably because it was expensive. Mac bought his mattress at Kmart. It was on sale. 

He hears Dennis’ breathing change. Tunes into it as he drifts off himself.

+

Dennis wakes up ten percent. Feels arms around him, warmth against his skin-- becomes another ten percent more alert. A hookup. Some girl he met at Paddy’s or some other bar-- no doubt a big-breasted woman with glossy lips, wearing one of those silky pink and black spaghetti-strap tops girls are always wearing with their low-rise jeans. But why is she all wrapped around _him_ instead of vice versa?

He wakes up another thirty percent. Now he’s fifty percent awake, for anyone keeping track. It’s Mac who’s snuggled around him. Right.

Whatever, he thinks, resigning himself. He opens his eyes for a second just to make sure it is in fact Mac. Relaxes his muscles again. If he lets on that he’s awake, if he disturbs Mac’s sleep-- Mac will leave. The warmth is nice. Whatever. 

+

It’s not like Mac meant to wrap his _entire body_ around Dennis’. It’s not like you can help what you do while you’re sleeping. 

But, considering he’s already in this position, it would be rude to move now. Dennis is still asleep, after all, even though Mac woke up. It would just be inconsiderate.

Anyway, Mac’s mind is finally quiet. He finally feels relaxed. It would just be stupid to ruin that.


	4. dennis, 2013

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shortest napfic ever. takes place during the gang gets quarantined. mac and dennis are sick. dee is annoying. floor? naptime. thanks 2 the anon who requested this!!!

2013  
5:30 p.m.  
A Thursday

“Don’t get too close to me, I don’t want to get the flu,” Dennis says, voice dry, pained, and, quite honestly, pretty damn pathetic.

“Are you kidding me, dude?” Mac coughs into his palm. “You might actually be dying.”

“I am not,” Dennis says. His eyes glaze over for a second; Mac wonders if he’s going to finish the sentence. After a few beats, he does. “Dying.”

“You two, shut up, just shut up,” Dee snaps. “It’s bad enough that I’m stuck in this disgusting bathroom with you guys. I don’t want to listen to you argue on top of it.”

“It’s your fault for infecting us, you dumb bird,” Mac huffs.

“Me? Me infecting you? Dennis infected all of us! Dennis is the one who ate the tainted pizza and infected all of us!”

“I did not, Dee, you bitch, it was definitely you!”

“It was Dee! It was Dee!” Mac yells.

Dee and Dennis both start yelling back, but, of course, they both erupt into a fit of coughs from the vocal strain. 

“This is so stupid, you guys,” Dee huffs a moment later. “We’re all sick. It doesn’t fucking matter. And we should let ourselves out of quarantine.”

“She’s right. There’s three of us and two of them,” Dennis manages, holding himself up on the side of the sink. “We could overrule. Overturn. Over… we could mutiny.” He half-shakes his head in acknowledgement of how stupid he sounds.

“We’re not gonna mutiny,” Mac says. “Okay, just-- let me think. I’m not that sick yet. We could… if we can get Charlie without Frank we can get him to do whatever we want. ...When they’re sleeping tonight, let’s make cat noises. Charlie’ll come investigate and he’ll let us out.”

“That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Is it, Dee? Do you have a better one?” Mac demands.

“No, goddammit, okay. Fine. We’ll do your stupid idea. Whatever. I don’t want to hang out with you guys anymore. I’m leaving.”

“You can’t leave,” Mac says as Dee stomps into the handicapped stall and slams the door shut.

He sighs, sitting on the sticky tile flooring. After a few pathetic seconds, Dennis joins him.

“Wow, Dennis, you smell _bad_.”

Dennis makes a sound that’s somewhere between a cough and a chuckle. “I’ve been in here for like two days.”

“Four days.”

“What?”

“You’ve been in here since Monday. It’s Thursday.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them speaks. The only sounds are the ambient creaky-leaky-pipe sounds (a sign of Charlie’s neglect) and the annoying, high-pitched, elevator-music-like sounds coming from the phone game Dee is playing in her stall. She must be sitting criss-cross on the toilet, Mac thinks, realizing he can’t see her huge feet or her bony ankles.

“Mac,” Dennis says, barely audible.

“Yeah, Den.”

“I don’t feel good.”

“Yeah, dummy. Me neither. We’re sick.”

Dennis sighs-- drawn out, loud, dramatic. “I don’t _feel_ good, Mac.”

“Yeah, dude, I know. We’re _sick_.”

“Why are you being short with me,” Dennis mumbles, his head lolling, barely touching Mac’s shoulder.

“Because you just said the same thing twice.”

“No I didn’t.” His head falls the rest of the way. Nestles against Mac’s shoulder.

“You did, bro. But it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Just relax.”

“How can I relax when my stupid sister is blasting her noises,” he mumbles.

“I heard that, boner,” Dee screeches from the stall.

“Eugh, Dee, we’re already sick, we don’t want to be screamed at,” Mac says, cringing.

“Are you two being gross out there?” She asks as if she didn’t hear Mac.

“Yes, we’re being gross, because we’re sick, and sick is gross,” Mac says, tilting his head toward Dennis’ the tiniest bit. He’s sitting on hard tile, leaning against hard wall, but somehow, he’s almost comfortable. He must be sicker than he thought.

“No, idiot, I meant gross like, how you’re always being all touchy feely with my brother gross.”

Mac freezes a little. “Shut the fuck up, you bird.”

Weakly, eyes still closed, still leaning against Mac, Dennis laughs a little. Mac almost smiles at him.

“Whatever, boners.”

Within a few minutes, Dennis’ breathing changes. He’s sleeping.

Without realizing he was a little tiny bit tense in the first place, Mac relaxes. Leans his head the rest of the way against Dennis’ matted curls. Falls asleep too.


	5. dennis, 2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> takes place directly after ptsdee. thanks glennjaminhow for requesting this!!!!!! dennis is a bastard man.  
> tw: mentions of sexual trauma

2017  
2:45 a.m.  
A Friday

(you’re good at lying. you’re good at compartmentalizing. _you are_.)

Dennis sets his jaw. Swings a left turn without using his turn signal. He is good at compartmentalizing, at denying the truth, at lying; he _is_. He has to be. That’s the only explanation for how he managed to not slip up to the gang that he, surprise, has a son in North Dakota. If he was bad at compartmentalizing and if he was bad at lying, he would have accidentally mentioned it by now. After all, the kid’s two years old. It’s been two years of maintaining this lie and he hasn’t slipped up _once_.

Other than the time he and Mac got blackout drunk and he heard himself say the words “my son” when Mac asked him what he was looking at on his phone. But Mac had cracked up so bad he almost puked and Dennis had forced himself to laugh with him. And in the morning Mac didn’t remember. Because he got blackout drunk.

(i guess i didn’t actually get blackout drunk if i remember that)

(fuck)

He maybe hasn’t been blackout drunk in a while. He maybe can’t drink the same way he used to. He’s maybe an adult now or whatever.

(you better be a fucking adult. you’re forty.)

(shit. forty one.)

But some habits, however childish, still define his life-- drinking, sloppy hookups, all manner of irresponsibility, compartmentalizing. Lying. To himself; to others. 

That’s kind of the gang’s Thing, even. Lying. It’s so much a part of who they are as a group of people (as a family?) that it’s just an accepted, unacknowledged part of life. 

Until Mac had to go and acknowledge that he’d been lying (to himself; to others) about being straight for all these years. Until Mac had to disturb their very fucking delicate collective balance. 

(fuck mac.)

Because if Mac can stop lying about the fact that he’s gay, maybe Dennis will eventually somehow stop lying about the fact that he has a real live flesh and blood son. 

(not that we ever got a dna test. maybe we should get a dna test.)

(no. the excuses are working so far, i’ll deal with it if it becomes an issue)

He almost runs a stop sign. Slams on the breaks just in time, lurching forward, his twenty year old car settling unsteadily against the pavement. Another driver honks at him; he puts up his middle finger. Glares at them, even though they probably can’t see it because it’s pitch dark out. Rolls his eyes as he hits the gas again.

Solves his problems like a child.

(fuck mac, he finds himself thinking again for no discernable reason)

Compartmentalizing is also a huge part of what makes the gang The Gang. Mac with his sexuality (until fucking recently, fuck mac) and his parents; Dee with her whole insanity thing or whatever it is, Frank with his donkey-brains thing, Charlie with the whole thing about his uncle molesting him-- Dennis stops short before getting to himself. It’s fine. He’s good enough at compartmentalizing that it doesn’t matter.

Or at least he _usually fucking is_. Everything is goddamn falling apart. Mac accepted himself. Practically forced the rest of the gang to accept him. And Charlie and Dennis just got done co-spiraling down the whole objectification drain. 

Everyone always throwing around “rape” when Miss Klinsky’s name comes up in conversation. Fucking ridiculous. And of course Charlie had been implying that Dennis had vulnerabilities-- Dennis, of all people, Dennis, the golden fucking god-- so of course he had to assert his dominance over his own sexuality with the whole stripping thing.

He’d almost admitted it was traumatic, too. Implied it when he asked Charlie to stop talking about trauma. It wouldn’t be considered trauma if it wasn’t traumatic. 

(but it wasn’t traumatic, he reminds himself.)

His hands are so tight around the steering wheel, his knuckles are white. 

And then when he was practicing his dance in Dee’s living room and Mac woke up. And he fucking looked at Dennis with those puppy dog eyes, those warm soft pillowy brown eyes, slanted downwards on the outsides like no one elses’ eyes Dennis has ever seen in his entire life, the most unique soft warm brown set of eyes in the whole fucking world--

And he’d smiled a little, and his hair was, for once, not gelled back all gross-- and when Dennis approached to shut the doors he’d leaned forward, those hopeful, innocent eyes--

(fuck mac. fucking _fuck mac_.)

Fuck Mac for acknowledging a truth about himself instead of stuffing it down with some brown like he’s supposed to. Like all five of them are supposed to.

Because _that’s their fucking thing._

“So I’m a dad,” he’d said casually to Charlie on that lady’s front step. Easily. As if the words meant nothing. As if it was just part of their stripper angle or whatever.

(really, it was a confession, his subconscious nudges out; it was confession.)

It’s Mac’s fault he’s even having these thoughts, really. Fuck Mac.

(i’m a bad dad now, he’d said to charlie. yeah. the worst fucking dad in the entire world probably.)

He’s almost back to Dee’s. He’s maybe four blocks away. Without thinking about it, without coming to a decision on purpose, he hangs a right turn. Drives in the wrong direction. Needs a few more minutes alone in the tight safety of the same car he’s had since he learned to drive.

Cigarette burn still on the side of the center console from when he’d stubbed out a cigarette there after a stressful day in college. Decades-old weed crumbs still in the glove box. The same jumper cables Frank had given him for his sixteenth birthday; a boring fucking present he’d resented at the time, but something that had come in handy once or twice.

He’s tired of fucking sleeping next to his bony disgusting bird of a sister. He’s tired of feeling her shift next to him in the middle of the night, her elbow driving into her back. He’s tired of feeling Old Man at the foot of the bed. Feeling boxed the fuck in. 

He’s tired of lying and compartmentalizing and forgetting and stuffing it down with brown.

He’s just plain fucking tired.

None of this is fucking working. None of it.

But his detour wasn’t well planned out. In just a few moments he’s back to Dee’s. Parking his car. Shoving a hand through his hair. Getting out; locking it; jaywalking across the street to her building.

It’s late and it’s fucking cold and suddenly Dennis is very fucking tired. He makes his way up to her apartment. Lets himself in quietly, hoping not to wake anyone up--

But Mac’s awake, sitting on the couch, frowning at his phone. 

Their eyes meet. 

“What are you still doing up?” Dennis asks, watching Mac stand up and come to lock the door.

“I’m reading about the sequel to that military VR game, dude. It sounds insane. We gotta play it.”

“It’s three in the morning,” Dennis says.

“Yeah… I lost track of time. And I was kinda waiting for you. I felt bad you drew the short straw and had to stay to close the bar alone.”

“If you felt bad, why didn’t you just stay with me and help?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I didn’t feel _that_ bad.”

Dennis just keeps looking at him. Nodding slowly.

“Guess we should head on in there,” Mac says, gesturing toward Dee’s room.

“No.”

“No?”

“Look, man, I’m so fucking tired of sleeping in a bed with my sister and some old man. Let’s just sleep out here like we used to before the whole suburbs fiasco. Dee’s not gonna tell on us.”

An eighth of a grin. Mac loves conspiring together. Dennis caught onto that early on; it’s a weakness of Mac’s. And Dennis has always been great at exploiting peoples’ weaknesses.

(i’m probably being a better dad by staying far away from that kid than i would be if i was around for him, he thinks as they take their shoes and jeans off)

“Dude, you got like, cuts on your back,” Mac says as Dennis takes his shirt off.

“Yeah. Charlie’s fault.” He shrugs, grabbing a tee shirt and popping it on.

(it’s mac’s tee shirt. he doesn’t bother switching it out for one of his own. fuck mac, though.)

“He’s an idiot,” Mac suggests as they get their old living room sleeping configuration back in place. 

“Yeah, man.”

“Night, Den.”

“Night.”


	6. mac, 2010

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> takes place in the middle of season 6. dennis has a migraine; mac has the solution.

2010

11:24 a.m.  
A Tuesday

“Dude.”

Dennis doesn’t respond.

“ _Dude_.”

A foot against his shoulder. He groans, retreating deeper into his blanket exoskeleton, thoroughly folded up against the hard, probably filthy floor. 

“Dennis. Dude.”

“ _What_ , Mac? What?” He huffs. “Don’t _kick_ me.”

“What’s wrong, bro? Why are you on the floor?”

Slowly, Dennis exhales. Doesn’t bother opening his eyes, although they’re covered by the blanket anyway. “Does there have to be some big dramatic reason for everything, Mac? Does there?”

“Nah, dude, whatever,” Mac’s voice comes, almost a little dejected. He continues to babble. Dennis barely listens. “But, like-- are you good, bro? Are you okay? ‘Cause you’ve been there for a while. We’re cooking up this really cool idea, dude, it involves Frank’s high school yearbook and me and Dee being fake married, which I’m not thrilled about, especially ‘cause like, gross, I don’t want people thinking that baby is, like, mine or whatever-- but it’ll be worth it when we get that payout and it has to be me ‘cause the rest of you look like siblings but my hair is too dark and all so I have to be the husband-- so like, are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“Then… why are you on the floor?”

“You fucking nosy…. you just can’t take no for an answer, can you,” Dennis groans.

“Dude, come on. I’ve never seen you curled up in a blanket on the floor in my life. Where did you even get that? Do we have some blanket storage facility in the keg room I don’t know about?”

“My car,” he mumbles from under the slightly scratchy green blanket. 

“Why was there a blanket in your car?”

“Will you leave me alone?”

“Seriously, dude, what’s your deal? Are you like, sick? Or drunk?” Mac persists. “I mean, there are, like… customers. They can see you.”

This conversation has been going on for far too long. Going in circles, looping back around the same topics-- Dennis is over it. It’s not getting anyone anywhere. It’s not making anyone feel better or solving any problems. It’s just empty noise filling the stale, unconcerned air of Paddy’s. 

“Den?”

“God dammit, Mac, what?”

“Are you sick?”

“No.”

“...I think you might be sick,” Mac says uncertainty, after a few beats of silence.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Do you want me to take you home, dude?”

Dennis almost spits a ‘no’ at Mac-- almost swears at him again, almost tells him to fuck off. But then he weighs his options.

Or-- he means to, at least, for a moment. But septic bitterness is thumping behind his forehead. Tearing up the back of his neck. There’s no room for thoughts underneath the pain. So he loosens himself from the blanket, forcibly ignoring the fact that his hair is certainly a mess, and nods, avoiding Mac’s earthy eyes.

“Okay, bro. Can I have your keys?”

He fishes them out of his pocket. Tosses them, clumsily, toward his roommate. Takes his time standing up.

“You got a migraine?” Mac suggests.

Dennis nods again, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, dude, that sucks. Let’s get out of here. Dee! You got this under control?” Mac shouts over his shoulder. He’s already leading Dennis out the back door, though, so they both effectively ignore whatever she says back.

“She’ll be fine,” Mac says, slinging an arm around Dennis’ shoulders. He cringes a little, but he doesn’t pull away. “When did this start, dude?”

“When I woke up,” he says, his voice small and dry. “It’s just been getting worse.”

“We’ll get you a huge glass of water and a bunch of Excedrin when we get home, man,” Mac says easily. “Don’t even worry about it. I got you.”

“I’m not _worried_ about a migraine, you big dummy,” Dennis mumbles.

“Good. You just gotta relax. You’ll feel better when you get water and medicine and get some toothpaste on your forehead,” Mac goes on as he unlocks Dennis’ car.

“Toothpaste on my forehead? No, bro. I’m not doing that,” Dennis says as he gets into the passenger side.

“It’ll help, dude. I swear. It attacks the bacteria in your head that’s making it hurt and the mintiness dissolves the muscle tension.” Mac karate chops at the air. “It’s the only way.”

“It sounds so messy.”

“Yeah, so you put it on until you feel better, then you take a shower, dude,” Mac insists. “Do you want to feel better or not?”

He’s starting to feel dizzy and nauseous. Every time he moves his head, it hurts. “Yes, dammit. Fine. You can put toothpaste on my face.”

“Good call.” 

Mac starts the car and pulls out of the parking spot, breaking at least four traffic rules as he drives them home. He doesn’t turn the radio on or say much more during the ride-- Dennis appreciates the silence, but he isn’t about to admit that.

The unsteady motion of Mac’s Bad Driving has him even more nauseous, though. By the time they get home, he’s about ready to turn the shower on as hot as it will go and curl up and take a nap in the bathtub.

But Mac has other plans. “Go lay on your bed, dude, I’ll be in after I get the toothpaste and medicine and shit,” he instructs as they enter the apartment.

Mind too fuzzy to really complain, Dennis does as he’s told. Takes his shoes off first, kicking them aside. Slowly, he lays down sideways on his bed.

“To be honest, bro, I’m kinda glad you made me take you home,” Mac says as he wanders into Dennis’ room a moment later. “Like, I don’t want to pretend to be Dee’s husband, you know? Gross. Especially not with the whole baby thing going on. It’s weird enough that you’re going to be its uncle,” he adds, handing Dennis four pills, which he sits up just enough to take with a sip of water.

“What?” He asks once he’s swallowed the medicine.

Mac sits on his bed, ignoring the question. “Put your head on my lap so I can get a good angle for the toothpaste, dude.”

Dennis does it. (might as well.)

Mac frowns with concentration as he dabs toothpaste onto Dennis’ forehead, smoothing out the furrow his brows had arranged themselves into. “You gotta relax your face muscles for the toothpaste to seep in.”

“The toothpaste is going to _seep in_?”

“Shh. Don’t move. We have to let it work its magic. There. All good.”

Dennis hears Mac screw the cap back on the toothpaste. He can smell the mint-- it’s almost overwhelming, but if Mac says it will help, he can deal with it. 

Even though he’s done, Mac doesn’t move until Dennis does a few minutes later.

“You feel better, dude?”

“Yeah,” Dennis says, rubbing at his eyes as he sits up. “I feel a lot better, actually.”

“It’s the toothpaste,” Mac insists. “I told you, bro. It works.”

“You were right. I don’t really want to take a whole-ass shower right now, though. Wipe it off.”

“Sure thing, man,” Mac says, hopping up. 

The mint smell really is obnoxiously strong-- but it worked, so who is Dennis to complain? Mac knows about these things, though. He’s a smarter guy than he lets on.

He comes back a moment later with a damp washcloth. He sits back down and starts cleaning the toothpaste off Dennis’ forehead. “Also in that thing we were gonna do, we were going to have to go find this old guy, that, like, your dad knew-- I mean Frank knew-- and that was going to be a whole thing… they can totally just do it without us, you know? We’ll get a cut of the money no matter what. I made Charlie swear. ‘Cause I noticed you were all curled up on the floor, and all that. There. All clean. You know, watching you lay there with your eyes closed made me kinda sleepy? Let’s just like, take a nap for a little while, dude,” Mac babbles as he finishes getting the toothpaste off.

“A nap?”

“Yeah, man. Just for a minute,” Mac says, tossing the washcloth onto the floor and laying down. “C’mon. You’ll feel better.”

(i already feel better, dennis can’t help but think--) but he lays down anyway.

“Just for a minute,” he repeats.

“Yeah, dude. A quick power nap.”


	7. dennis, 2008

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> takes place directly after "dennis reynolds: an erotic life"!!!!!!!!

2008  
3 p.m.  
A Tuesday

“I’m telling you, Mac, it was Sinbad.” Dennis frowns at his palms-- the skin is still red, irritated, and stained with dry blood. Probably infected.

“That wasn’t Sinbad, dude.”

“Yeah, I know _that_ wasn’t Sinbad, but I swear it was before,” Dennis insists.

Mac shakes his head, fishing their apartment key out of his pocket. He unlocks their door. “You were fucked up on drugs or whatever. Or ‘cause Frank gave you a concussion, maybe. It was just some guy who kind of looked like Sinbad. Anyway-- out of all the, like, celebrities you could manifest, why the hell would you choose Sinbad? You could have hallucinated Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise or some other beef cake.”

“I didn’t hallucinate shit, man. If I hallucinated that part, then tell me why my hands are still all scabby,” Dennis insists, holding up his palms. “You can’t hallucinate that, bro.”

Mac grimaces a little. Remembers Frank and the nail gun. Remembers, all at once, the laundry list of Dennis’ other shit-- remembers the librarian thing, remembers the hooker thing Frank had made Dennis do, remembers all five hundred of the other bad things Frank has done to the guy, remembers how fucking crazy their mom was-- decides, quickly, not to mention the nail gun thing to Dennis. Decides to spare him this time.

“Yeah, true, I guess those are legit,” Mac lies. They take their shoes off; they head to the fridge for beers. “That is pretty wild, dude.”

“Yeah. It hurts like a bitch, too. I think it might be infected.”

Mac rips the top off his beer. Takes a swig. “Yeah?” He asks once he’s swallowed. “Do you want me to clean it up for you?”

“If you think it’s best,” Dennis says, shrugging, avoiding Mac’s gaze. He takes a delicate sip from his beer bottle.

“Yeah, dude. Sit down.”

Dennis does as Mac said. Mac heads into the bathroom, taking another gulp from his beer bottle, and gets the rubbing alcohol and bandaids and a half-used roll of toilet paper. Considers, for a fraction of a second, that maybe the gang gets carried away a lot, and maybe this was one of those times-- that maybe it was a little bit ridiculous to try to stage Dennis’ Erotic Memoirs and get Jon Bon Jovi and the rehab thing and the stigmata. But. Whatever. What’s done is done. He easily shrugs it off, and heads back into the living room to take care of the nail gun wounds on Dennis’ hands.

As he leans down to get a better look, he notices the dried blood on the side of Dennis’ face too, dripping toward his ear-- from when Frank bashed his head with the nail gun. Mac frowns a little, reaching for it.

Dennis grimaces. Shrinks back from Mac’s touch.

“It’s okay, dude,” Mac says. “You got to let me clean it up or it’ll get infected. We have to get the dried blood off. Sweat and air and dried blood mixing together is really bad for germs and stuff.”

He rips a few squares off the roll of toilet paper. Holds them to the opening of the rubbing alcohol bottle; turns the bottle upside-down so the toilet paper catches all the liquid that falls out. Then he grabs Dennis’ shoulder to hold the guy steady while he cleans the head wound.

“Why are you still wearing that stupid wig, man?” Dennis asks, his face twisted up in pain from the alcohol against his raw skin. “Actually-- why are you wearing it in the first place?”

“Oh, it was like, this whole fake cancer thing to get in the same room as Bon Jovi,” Mac explains, finishing with the head wound and going to clean Dennis’ left palm. “And then Frank was like, saying his life is so hard, and I should try to walk a mile in his shoes-- and he was bitching about how he has to wear wigs to get laid, so I got a wig to wear so I would understand his struggle, or whatever. I just never took it off.”

“That is so goddamn stupid,” Dennis huffs.

“Yeah, well, it’s not much stupider than you thinking you were hanging out with Sinbad.”

“It was really him, dude. Come on.”

“There’s no way.”

He moves on to Dennis’ right hand, sloppily dabbing at both sides of his hand impatiently. “There you go. All clean.”

“Take that stupid wig off,” Dennis demands. “You look ridiculous.”

“Alright, alright,” Mac says, waving his hand at Dennis to shut him up. He takes the wig off and tosses it across their living room.

Dennis recoils. “Ew! Mac! Take the bald cap off right now!”

“I’m getting to it, bozo!”

“I’m telling you, man, I’ve had it up to here today, get that stupid thing off.”

“Why do you care so much?” Mac asks, beginning to peel up the edges of the bald cap.

“You just better not lose your hair. You look terrible without hair,” Dennis says as if it’s a warning.

“Yeah,” Mac says. “Frank said the same thing.” He gets the rest of the latex off and balls the bald cap up, chucking it across the room too. His hair is staticy and matted weird underneath it, but whatever. He finishes his beer.

Dennis leans back against the couch. Props his feet up on the coffee table. Yawns, covering his mouth with his fucked up hand. 

“You tired, bro?” Mac asks.

“Yeah. I haven’t slept since I woke up in that rehab place. I mean, the warehouse. Or whatever it was.”

“Maybe you should take a nap,” Mac suggests.

“Sure,” Dennis says, nodding slowly. “That sounds good.” He yawns again, closing his eyes. 

Mac catches the yawn. He tries to suppress it into silence to pretend he didn’t catch it, since Dennis sometimes gets annoyed if he feels like someone is copying him. He slouches against the couch too, angling his body more toward his roommate-- not on purpose or anything, no, that would be weird, it’s just the most natural thing, okay.

“You gonna go take a nap, then, dude?” Mac asks, running a hand through his matted hair.

“I don’t really wanna move,” Dennis mumbles. “I think I’m just going to take a nap here.”

“Makes sense,” Mac says, nodding a few times even though Dennis’ eyes are closed. “Totally makes sense, bro. Sleep good.”

“Maybe I will if you shut up, dumbass.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay.”

Mac figures he might as well take a nap too. He’s not really all that tired, but he’s pretty comfy, and if he gets off the couch it might disturb Dennis, and also maybe he shouldn’t leave Dennis alone since he lowkey maybe has a concussion and all that. You aren’t supposed to sleep alone if you have a concussion, right? You could die. And, Mac reasons, he doesn’t really want Dennis to die. Because the apartment (and also Mac’s cell phone) is in Dennis’ name and all. And because Dennis is the only member of the gang who actually knows how to make drinks, so he’s kind of important from a business standpoint. Also, if he died, Mac would have to like call the police or an ambulance or whatever and it would be a whole big thing. So it’s really in Mac’s best interests to stick around and hang out with Dennis while he’s sleeping and maybe touch his neck every once in a while to check his pulse.

Yeah, he silently confirms, closing his eyes too; might as well stick around.


	8. mac, 2009

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's stakeout time. dennis is feeling like a tender bitch. naturally flowing perspective shift from mac to dennis because i'm feeling experimental. takes place during season 5 so u know they're secretly dating :') thanks to anon for requesting!!!!!!

2009  
2:37 p.m.  
A Monday

Mac yawns.

“No,” Dennis says almost immediately, hitting the heel of his palm against the side of his steering wheel for emphasis. “Cut that shit out, Mac. We have to focus.”

“Dude, I can’t just not yawn,” Mac protests, yawning again as if just to spite Dennis. “I can’t help it. Just ignore it.”

“I can’t ignore it, you idiot, you yawn so loud it’s impossible to focus on anything else,” Dennis snaps. “If you yawned like a normal person I would be able to ignore it but you yawn so loud I can’t. So stop it.”

“Oh my god,” Mac says, rolling his eyes. “Can we just move past it?”

Dennis huffs a little, but, for all intents and purposes, he moves past it. 

“We’ve been waiting here for like two hours,” Mac says after a beat or two of silence. “He’s never going to come out of there, bro.”

“We’ve been parked here for twenty minutes,” Dennis corrects after a glance at his phone screen. “He’ll come out, alright. Just you wait.”

Mac sighs, leaning back against the passenger seat of Dennis’ Range Rover. The chilly streets of Philadelphia have given themselves over to fat rain droplets, which have taken to beating hard against the windows. If not for the body heat of the two of them, they would probably be pretty cold by now.

(at least, dennis would be cold. he’s always cold. i wonder if he’s cold, mac can’t help but think.)

“Den?”

“What?”

“Are you cold?” Mac asks casually.

“No. I’m fine. Can we just focus on the stakeout, please?” He gestures very seriously, vertically slicing the air with his palm. 

(he has nice fingers, mac can’t help but notice, nice hands)

“What if he doesn’t come out?”

“He’s going to come out,” Dennis says impatiently. “He has to eventually. He probably has shit to do and he’s going to run out of food and drinks eventually. He’s going to come out and we’re going to watch and see if he gets into the blue car and then we’re going to follow him to see if this is the guy who’s been throwing trash out the window at the bar.”

“Right, but like, then what?” Mac asks slowly, his eyes narrowing a little.

“What do you mean, and then what? He disrespected us so we’re going to figure out who this guy thinks he is,” Dennis answers. 

“We’ll see if he gets into the blue car we saw from Paddy’s,” Mac recounts, “and then we’ll know if he’s the guy who threw the empty takeout containers at the bar and got noodles everywhere or not. But then what are we going to do, man?”

“We’re going to follow him,” Dennis says. “We’re going to… I’m going to start the car and we follow him, and, you know, we’ll see where he goes, and then we can…” he gestures vaguely. Sets his hand against the wheel. “We’ll just take it from there. We don’t need to iron out every single little detail. The point is that we know what our goal is and we know… just shut up, will you? Just stop asking so many questions. It’s becoming a very annoying thing to me.”

Mac yawns again. He tries to keep his mouth shut, but it doesn’t work.

“Stop yawning. Jesus Christ. Do you need some caffeine or something?”

“Yeah, man, caffeine would be great, actually, that would wake me up.”

Dennis cocks his head a quarter of an inch. Blinks. “Well, we… we can’t go get any, so you’re just going to have to stay awake on your own.”

“Then you gotta hit me or something, dude,” Mac suggests. “‘Cause I’m getting really sleepy, bro. I’m about to conk out. I got like two hours last night because of the whole thing with the cat upstairs.”

“I’m not going to hit you,” Dennis dismisses, face scrunching up as he shakes his head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Just do it, dude. I’m telling you to.”

“But then I’ll break your nose or something and you’ll get all mad and it’s going to be a whole thing.”

“Jesus Christ, Dennis, just don’t slam me in the nose, then,” Mac says, crossing his arms tightly over his ribcage. “Just slap me on the cheek or something.”

“You want me to slap you on the cheek?”

“Yeah, man. Just a little. Just enough to wake me up. Go ahead.”

“Okay. Okay. Are you ready?”

“Don’t _ask_ me if I’m ready, that ruins the whole--”

Dennis’ ice cold palm collides with Mac’s stubbly cheek.

“Ouch, dude, shit,” Mac reacts, reaching for his face. “Fuck. That hurt.”

“Did it work? Did it wake you up?” Dennis asks.

“No, dude. If anything, I’m even more sleepy now ‘cause I’m also in pain. Ouch.”

“You asked me to,” Dennis says defensively. “You practically begged me to hit you! This isn’t my fault. God. You never know what you want.”

“I told you to not hit me that much, dude! You hit me, like, a ton.”

“Stop trying to _quantify_ how much I hit you, Mac, you can’t _measure_ \--”

“Shit, is that our man?”

Dennis follows Mac’s gaze, peering down the street. Plaid shirt, navy blue puffy vest, a brightly wrapped birthday present in his hands-- he heads toward a sloppily parallel parked black car. Mac and Dennis each deflate a little.

“I thought that was him,” Mac sighs, still rubbing at his cheek. “He had the same hair. So close.”

“Yeah, he had the same douchebag looking self important vest on too,” Dennis says, scowling. 

“Dude, I am so sleepy, can’t you do this alone?” Mac asks, cringing, really milking the whole face-slap thing.

“No, I absolutely cannot do this on my own,” Dennis insists. “If I could do it on my own I would have just come on my own. This is a two person job, Mac. You can’t just push a two person job onto only one person. That doesn’t work. It’s not enough people.”

“Okay, well, he’s not going to come out,” Mac says. “I’m just going to close my eyes for like a second, dude. My face hurts anyway. I need to rest it so it can heal.”

“Oh, come on, Mac, I didn’t hurt you that bad,” Dennis dismisses. “And you _asked_ me to hit you anyway.”

“Talk to me in ten minutes, dude,” Mac says, settling against the back of the passenger seat and closing his eyes.

Bored of arguing, Dennis just rolls his eyes and gives up. Listens to the dull plonk of rain against his car instead. To the gentle whir of the wind. The spinning of the cars passing.

Mac seems to be asleep within a few minutes. Dennis hazards a glance. Yeah-- Mac’s mouth has fallen open a little bit. He’s asleep.

Dennis exhales, leaning forward with an elbow on the dashboard to continue watching for the guy. After a few moments he checks for the flask of Jim Beam he keeps in the center console, but he and Mac had emptied it on an impromptu road trip to Atlantic City a few weeks ago and Dennis hasn’t yet refilled it. He sighs. Puts the empty flask back in the console. 

Mac’s head lolls to the side a little.

That trip had been so nice. It was in the wake of their failed Grand Canyon trip, and they just left impulsively without even telling the rest of the gang. They’d blasted 80s music the whole way, lost a hundred bucks at the casinos, then ended up on the beach, drunk, laughing, kissing once they were sure no one was around. Mac had given him the third least-effective hand job he’d ever had. But he was too drunk to care. They ended up sleeping in the Range Rover, seats fully reclined, back windows cracked for a little ocean breeze. 

Dennis glances over at Mac. 

(wonders, for maybe a tenth of a second, how mac would react if he just fucking went for it and kissed him in front of everybody)

He takes a breath. Exhales slowly. Watches the front door of the apartment building harder. Guy with the blue car and the curly hair, he reminds himself. Smug motherfucker with the noodles.

But now that the few cubic feet inside his Range Rover are quiet, now that he and Mac are done bickering-- his mind wanders.

Being in a car with Mac has always been different than being anyplace else with Mac. Different than being in a car with anyone else, too. Being in a car with Mac shuts the whole world out. Locks it out. Locks them in.

(if not for the windows, dennis thinks to himself, if not for the windows he would be mine)

He watches another few people wander the streets of Philly. Watches a man with a little kid come out of the apartment building. Watches a motorcycle zip past. Watches taxis. Cars. Pedestrians. People with strollers and dogs on leashes and shopping bags and whatever else.

Dennis affords a brief glance to Mac. He’s lolled further to the side. His neck is probably going to hurt when he wakes up.

(we need to stop, we need to keep our hands off each other, it’s borrowed time anyway, it’s gone on for several months already there’s no way we can keep it up we should just go back to being normal friends again)

Slowly, almost hesitantly even in sleep, Mac’s head droops down lower. His shoulders follow. Quietly, deftly, Dennis reaches over. Unbuckles Mac’s seatbelt so slow, it’s sure not to wake the guy up. The click is barely audible. But Mac’s body responds; he slouches even closer to Dennis, almost splayed across the center console, mouth still hanging an inch or two open. His earthy eyes are closed softly, fanned by dark lashes.

(he’s beautiful)

(ew, what the fuck, no, he’s not beautiful, he’s annoying)

Dennis scoffs at his subconscious for having the audacity to even think that.

Mac’s head lolls onto his lap. The angle is weird. It can’t be comfortable.

His fingers uncertain, Dennis’ hand tangles into Mac’s miraculously un-gelled hair.

(he ran out of gel the other day. that’s right. he was bitching about it. he kept talking about how ridiculous he looks without it. yeah)

Truth be told, Dennis hates the way Mac’s hair looks when it’s all plastered down with gel. But he’s also grateful for it. Because otherwise, he might have a hard time keeping his eyes to himself. Otherwise, he might find himself reaching over to touch it every once in a while.

Right now, though, Mac is asleep. Right now, nobody is seeing them. Right now, for all intents and purposes, they’re alone.

It’s a stolen moment, Dennis can’t help but think. But he’ll take it.

He leaves his hand in Mac’s hair. Leaves a third of himself to the stakeout. Gives the remainder to Mac. At least for another minute or two.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on golden-geese.tumblr.com and request a future napfic. taking napfic requests for the foreseeable future bc this is the only genre any of us need anymore :')


End file.
